Tag: houseplants

Study Hal: Week 36 – Green Thumb

Leila Mullison Leave a comment

Houseplants are a joy, especially for college students. Hal has had this little snake plant since he moved into his dorm freshman year. He keeps it by the window so it gets a lot of sun, but that doesn’t stop it from being… dramatic. Hal is well acquainted with the theatrics, but his heart still drops every time he finds the poor fella flopped over! Hal knows there isn’t much he can do expect give it a little water and wait for the sun to rise. Does that knowledge stop him from worrying? No, never.

Hal wants me to ask: do you folks name your house plants? Hal feels like he’s had this one for so long that it deserves a name, but he’s not the most creative with names. (For example, he named his childhood dog Sparky.) Leave your suggestions in the comments and Hal will take them into consideration. If you need inspiration, he likes classic horror movies and electrical engineering.

If this is your first time here, welcome! Hal is a U-Mich senior studying remotely from his childhood home. He’s back on Tuesdays, but if you’re craving more, check out the backlog on the Study Hal tag!

The Art of Keeping Plants Alive in College

jushutch Leave a comment

My windowsill is a small greenhouse, covered end to end in a variety of fascinating plants, each with their own personality. I grew up surrounded by trees and nature, which helps to explain why I have such a fondness and appreciation for plants of all varieties. Plants not only represent growth, life, and survival, but more importantly they each carry their own story, a unique tale that can offer knowledge of life on a smaller, pot size scale. A unique relationship is formed when you’re responsible for life, no matter how small, and the trials and errors that come along with this responsibility have more impact than they might seem. I specifically have 10 plants, comprised of succulents, bonsai, cacti, and a rose bush, the oldest one being a succulent that I’ve had for at least 4 years. I wasn’t always skilled at raising plants however, and I’ve accidentally killed more than I would care to admit (me and bamboo are particularly incompatible, although I’ve tried many times to make it work). Now that I’ve figured out a system that works for me and the plants, I’ve had the confidence to expand my little garden, the most recent addition being the small rose bush which blooms during the winter.

One of my most ambitious and difficult projects is pictured to the left, a square ceramic planter with a sand garden and spot of land just barely big enough for a bonsai tree and a monkey sitting underneath it. The concept was simple: a zen garden combined with a bonsai tree, representing a miniature place of solitude. Originally there were two trees, which I learned the hard way was overly ambitious, and it has also been a struggle to keep the sand separate from the soil, especially when watering the bonsai. Just recently the last tree suffered from the move back to college; a lot of it inexplicably turned brown and fell off, and I was prepared for the worst. But now it is teeming with new life, sprouts up and down, growing rapidly with renewed vigor. The personality of this plant is young, and its story shows that sometimes starting over is the best way to grow into something better.

Each one of my plants has their own story, each of them unique and equally interesting. Although it can be a challenge to take care of them during a busy college schedule, the reward is always worth it and I’m always glad I have them. They offer a reprieve from the city and remind me of the beauty of nature, something that I find is often forgotten about today.

To Grow Art

Justin & Ersun Leave a comment

Throughout the spring and summer, I punch the clock at a greenhouse in the farming community of Allendale, Michigan. While there is little to no training given by the managers of the company, I am thrown into the indoor fields of flowering annuals like a clueless tourist being dumped into a foreign land. As the days drone on, I quickly learn the alternative names of plants and where they are located in the store. It is not long before I begin understanding care and maintenance procedures and their corresponding relations to other plants. I distinguish annuals from perennials, full-sun from part-sun from full-shade. Heat resistance and zoning become second nature to me. I can tell customers which plants attract butterflies and hummingbirds and which ones repel deer and mosquito. The complexity becomes beautiful and I find myself engrossed by the magic of plants. It is an enchantment I do not wish to flee.

So I make it follow me. As I now gaze into the leafy tendrils of my elephant foot palm on the windowsill, I cannot help but smile. This small palm tree brings a sliver of joy and life to my white-walled dorm room during the lifeless months of fall and winter. The grey ceramic pot creates a micro island, an oasis from the grip of seasonal affective disorder. While the trees lose their leaves and the flowers go dormant, my foot palm remains green and lively.

As humans, plants are our perfect companions. We exhale carbon dioxide while they inhale it. Plants give off oxygen, and we take it. Together, we complete the cycle of gases. They breathe and intake nutrients and water like animals, but are generally sedentary objects like rocks. They are the epitome of living art.

Imagine an empty room, cold and industrial. Not living, not breathing. It doesn’t grow or change. Its ambiance is poor, if not bare. Give it plants and it will grow atmosphere. They stretch their green leaves into the living space and give us something to interact with. Unlike furniture, they are organic and require care. Plants force us to foster a relationship. Care is mandatory for their survival. We must feed them water and sunlight so that they may give us joy. The discipline of caring for them is rewarded subtly by the thriving nature of the plant. From sculpting bushes and trimming hedges to growing crops and fruit trees, one’s care of plants is often correlated with its harvest—be it concretely through produce, or abstractly through beauty. It allows us to grow art. No painting or sculpture can bring as much natural beauty to a room as a vibrant plant.